So certain, this world
Filled with experts:
When no one knows for sure why we sleep!
In the pasture,
Parted by tire gouges,
The soil sets about repairing itself,
Twin sutures healing while no one looks.
So sure! Doctors and lawyers and such–
Yet from the stone stable I see the boy,
Dead one hundred fifty years,
Watching for Confederate soldiers.
The sea washes over the sea;
The wind starts where?
No Icarus, these birds,
Who survey their winging breadth of sky.